


if you're running out of breath and your building's burning down

by mockturtletale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Canon Divergence, First Time, Found Family, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t witches this time. </p><p>“Forest. Nemeton. Come, please. Hurry. Now.” </p><p>The line goes dead, and Derek’s heart stops still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're running out of breath and your building's burning down

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note; 
> 
> \- Jackson and Erica and Boyd are still present and accounted for. 
> 
> \- takes place in a vague future where Stiles is 25. 
> 
> \- some canon details are fudged. 
> 
> \- major character death is a theme here, but not a reality. you can see the end for more notes on this if you so wish. 
> 
> \- since this is set in the future these characters work off what is the experience and fanon-theory that werewolves can't carry or transmit disease, and so the barebacking is kind of a foregone conclusion. Safe sex is an absolute must unless you know without doubt that you're not in danger, and that can only be the case in this - a supernatural alternate universe.

It isn’t witches this time. 

It’s not vampires or werewolves or ghouls or zombies or ancient gods. 

There are no lions or tigers or bears. 

Stiles gets poisoned by a wretchedly human enemy, albeit one who wants and has known the magic that flows through Stiles and keeps them all safe. Except for tonight, when it almost gets him killed instead. 

Still, it’s Derek that manages to fuck everything skyward in the end, because isn’t it always. 

 

____

 

The kid had run with a neighboring pack before he’d been tossed out on his ass, and he’s older than Stiles; as old as Derek himself, but Derek sees in him an immaturity that he has never known in Stiles. 

The kid is bitterly, violently jealous of the belonging that Stiles has found, the home he put together and stitched himself into the heart of, for Derek and for Scott and for everyone who matters to either of them. 

The kid had spent years training and studying, practicing and sacrificing to know magic. He had begun long before Stiles did, and he could keep trying until his dying day and still never know the control of it, the weight and force of it the way Stiles does. Magic found itself in Stiles, and Stiles keeps it safe as it does for him, for _them_. 

The kid saw Stiles as an opportunity to win from his pack the kind of respect that Stiles had from his, but having tried and failed once before to rob him of his power, the kid had been cast aside from his pack; a liability now in bigger ways than he had ever been useful. The Hale pack were not one to be threatened, and any pack worth its salt knew this and took it carefully and absolutely to heart. 

And so the kid, alone and desperate, fearless with stupidity, returned. 

And this time he planned to take from Stiles much more than just his magic. 

 

____

 

 _Fairest Mage calling_ Derek’s phone informs him, and months after the fact the edited entry in his contacts still makes Derek snort and roll his eyes. 

“I don’t care how hungry you think you are, Stiles, you won’t be able to eat an entire pizza all by yourself. Get Isaac and Cora’s toppings on half, they’ll eat it. And don’t forget my buffalo wings this time, or don’t come home, you hear me?” 

He’s expecting Stiles to put up a fight, because he always does. He’s expecting an impassioned decree on how this could finally be the week when Stiles manages to put away the entire 24” pizza that the place in town makes special just for them, because the girl who works on Friday nights has a crush on Derek or Isaac or Stiles or Jackson or Erica or whoever else she has chosen this week. Derek’s is an attractive pack, in all manner of ways, so he can’t fault the girl her good taste. Not when it gets them specialty pizzas dirt cheap. Derek has a lot of very hungry mouths to feed, some lovelier than others but all lovely, and he’s not about to look a gift horse in hers. Maybe tonight Stiles will lecture Derek about pimping him and the others out, until Derek points out that he’s the only one their pizza girl has actually made a move on. Maybe Stiles is calling to say she finally worked up the courage to make a move on him, calling to tell Derek because he knows Derek will laugh at that. 

But instead what Stiles says isn’t even words. 

It’s a wet, gasping breath that’s dragged in and then hacked back out. 

“Forest. Nemeton. Come, please. Hurry. Now.” 

The line goes dead, and Derek’s heart stops still. 

 

____

 

By the time Derek gets to Stiles the kid is long gone, but the talisman he has worn proudly - boldly - every time Derek has ever had to lay eyes on him is held tight in Stiles’ fist, clenched in a knot of fingers that has gone white and stiff. 

Derek is on his knees before Stiles in an instant, halfway to wolfed out and biting back howls that shake through his lungs, his entire rib cage vibrating with the effort it takes to contain his anguish. 

“What. Stiles. _Stiles_ , how. What. No. Stiles,” is what Derek thinks he says, but all he knows for sure is that Stiles smiles at him. Smiles up at Derek from where he’s slumped against a tree, sitting on the wet forest floor looking like most of the life has already left his body. Stiles smiles and Derek does howl then, because he can’t not. He is all wolf, and he’s hurting. His howl peters out into a low, desperate keen. 

“Hey, no,” Stiles says with his teeth chattering around the words, his breathing so shallow that it distracts Derek from the sluggish, pulpy pulse of Stiles heart as it slows down and gives up in his chest. “Poison. Took his magic, but nothing -” Stiles coughs and closes his eyes and Derek takes Stiles’ face in his hands, careful with his claws because he doesn’t have the control to will them away but he can’t not touch Stiles. 

“Nothing I could do. M’sorry,” Stiles says, and he looks sorry. He looks sad. He looks like he doesn’t want to go, but has resigned himself to the fact that he is; that he will. Derek has never seen Stiles look accepting of something he did not want, and he won’t have him die feeling defeated. 

So Derek kisses him. 

He surprises them both by finally, finally doing something he’s wanted to do every single day for years now. And he does it just like that, too; like he has thought about this, and like he has wanted. 

“I love you,” Derek says, beside himself. Twisted inside out and upside down at the thought of losing Stiles; so powerless to do anything that he feels nothing but the ache of loss that is never too far from the surface for Derek, but rises with a vengeance in him now. For Stiles. “I’ve … I’ve _loved_ you,” Derek says, begging some force in the universe to hear him and let that count for something, willing in that moment to do anything it takes to get to keep Stiles - willing even to hope, for the first time in a very long time. 

But all he can do is kiss Stiles again; once more. So he gathers him up in his arms and tries to keep him warm, tries to keep him here. Stiles drops the talisman and bands his hand around Derek’s wrist instead, the cold shock of his touch only making Derek hold onto him harder, hold him closer. 

“I l-” is all Stiles manages to say before his eyes light up, unnaturally bright until all the light drains away, and takes Derek’s newly born, still feeble hope with it. 

The forest, maybe the world itself, seems to grow darker and Derek doesn’t notice the bitter taste of poison in his own mouth before everything goes black. 

 

____

 

Derek wakes up to the sound of Scott’s laughter, and thinks maybe his grief transported him to an alternate reality. Losing Laura made him near-feral, but losing Stiles … 

“Oh hey, he’s waking up. Derek, hey Derek, can you hear me?” 

“Stop shouting, Scott,” Derek grumbles, blinking his eyes open against light that feels bright enough to burn. His head hurts. His whole body hurts. 

“He’s okay,” Scott shouts even louder, presumably to whoever Deaton wouldn’t let crowd into the small back room of the clinic, likely the entire pack. Except for. 

“Stiles,” Derek says out loud, only he has no idea how to say anymore, or construct a full sentence after that word. 

“Oh Stiles is fine, bro. He woke up hours ago. Deaton says you ingested much more of the poison than he did, although we still can’t figure out how that guy managed to make you both drink poison in the first place. Was it a spell? Some kind of immobility thing? Stiles isn’t talking.” 

The world comes back to Derek in fast, bright bursts of light and awareness, facts crackling like fireworks in his mind, relief flooding over him like warm bathwater. He tries to sit up but finds his arms uselessly weak; jellied whether with relief or the aftereffects of the potion he unknowingly ingested. 

“He’s okay? He’s alive?” 

“Of course he is, he’s … oh, shit. Did you think … I’m sorry, man, I should have opened with that. Stiles is totally fine. Alive and trying to kick the door down to get to you, from the sounds of things.” Scott smiles at Derek kindly, warmly, and Derek, not for the first time, is immensely grateful to have him around and part of Derek’s life without any of the animosity that had been bred between them before. 

Now that Scott mentions it, there is an unholy racket outside; what sounds like fists being pounded against the door and yelling, so much yelling.

“Stiles?” Derek says again and Scott rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay buddy. Let me go get him before you both start tearing walls down.”

Scott walks away and then Stiles is tumbling into the room, gathering himself only as he gets to Derek's bedside, and pulling himself together then in a way that makes Derek's relief settle icy cold in his veins, lead-heavy in his belly.

“You're ... uh. You're – awake. Hi. Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Derek says, because that is partially the case. Physically, he feels just fine. His headache is gone and he has more than the strength he needs to pull himself upright. His speedy werewolf healing is probably also responsible for his own survival. “How are you?”

This room had been warm and small when Derek had talked to Scott in it; made comfortable by his joy in hearing that Stiles was okay and the presence of his pack, the knowledge that everyone was here and everyone was fine. The walls are starting to fall back, now, and Derek sees them for the dull grey shade they bare; the clinical, utilitarian decorative scheme that seems instantly fitting for this conversation, because Stiles is here and Stiles is alive, but Stiles is stiff by his side, his hands pushed into his back pockets and his feet steady on the ground, not balancing his weight between his heels and the balls of his feet like usual, not moving with the barely restrained energy that flows through him when he gets emotional now, because of his magic. Stiles is rigid with what must be the awkward, unwanted knowledge that Derek is in love with him and always has been; the memory of Derek kissing him. He fought his way in here to have it all out with Derek, probably. To make clear to Derek what Derek has always known: that he'll never be good enough for Stiles. That he could never deserve him.

“I'm great! Totally a-ok. Healthy as an ox, but still a little punier. Just like normal. Everything's exactly like it always was, right?”

Stiles is babbling, and Derek wishes he could bring himself to smile, because he has fond memories of the days when Stiles was frightened of him and let it drive him to these kinds of nerves. But Derek lives in days where Stiles could never be intimidated by him, now. He lives for mornings when Stiles lets himself into Derek's loft with his own set of keys. He lives for afternoons when Stiles will steal sips of his tea without asking and push his socked feet under Derek’s thigh on the couch without hesitation.

“Yeah. Everything is like it's supposed to be,” Derek says, because everyone is alive, and everyone is healthy and that's how it's supposed to go. Derek is hurting, but that's how it's always gone, too.

Stiles takes his hands out of his pockets and puts them on the edge of the gurney Derek is sitting on, the same one he has watched Deaton stitch Stiles up on, the one Isaac has bled all over so often that Derek has lost count, the one Lydia has torn with the heels she refuses to take off and the one on which Danny first learned the truth of who he loves.

Derek wonders if he's supposed to shy away from Stiles' touch now, but not for long.

“Except for the part where you kissed poison right off my fucking tongue, and confessed your undying love, you huge, beautiful asshole,” he near-hisses, his eyebrows drawn together in anger that becomes outright fury by the time it makes his jaw clench. Derek gets some mixed messages from all of this. 

“I’m sorry? I thought you were going to die?” is all Derek can think to say, shocked into absolute honesty by Stiles’ reaction combined with his closeness and the memory of how hot his mouth is even when his whole body is cold, how well he fits in Derek’s arms in even the worst of all circumstances. 

“I know. Perfect timing as usual, Derek. God, you’re infuriating. Here I am thinking I’m going to die a nice pleasant, simple death. Poisoned by an enemy, dying in the belly of a forest that ruined and gave me my life, held by someone who chooses then and there to tell me he loves me. Sweet, right? Uncomplicated. But no. I wake up to a confused, frantic pack wanting to know why they found the two of us passed out under a tree holding hands. Wanting to know if we’d pulled a Romeo + Juliet. And then I’m the one who has to explain with breadcrumbs of truth that we were poisoned, that we’d never willingly drink the stuff. Except for how _you fucking did_. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here and now, for that.” 

Derek still has no clue what is happening right now. He knows Stiles is mad, but he doesn’t understand why, given that it doesn’t seem to be about Derek kissing him or being in love with him. Derek’s headache is starting to return. 

“I didn’t mean to ingest the poison? You weren’t really clear on how you’d been poisoned so I didn’t know that … doing what I did would put me in danger?” Stiles’ anger seems to be focused on the fact that Derek put himself in harm’s way, and that’s old, well-treaded territory for them, so it seems like a safe enough bet. 

Stiles laughs, but instead of settling Derek’s nerves it bites at them, because it’s a shrill sound. It’s a near hysterical sound. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t have done exactly what you did all over again, if you had known that it could save me. Tell me that, Derek.” 

Derek can’t even look at him like he’s been instructed, let alone lie to him while he does. 

“Yeah. Exactly. You’d willingly, eagerly sacrifice yourself to save me, after everything we’ve been through - everything we’ve accomplished together, everything we’ve built with your pack. You’d do it in a heartbeat, because you’re in love with me. Because you love me.” Stiles spits this last part, lets the words crack against the backs of his teeth as he says them like they’re peach pits he wants rid of. 

Even as Stiles stares him down, eyes blazing and every bone in his body seeming to lock with conviction. Seeing Stiles stand as a strong, lean, _gorgeous_ line of righteous wrath next to him does nothing at all to encourage Derek to apologize for that. He’ll keep a lid on it if that’s what Stiles needs, but he won’t ever say he’s sorry he feels it. 

And so he lifts his chin into it when he says. 

“Yes. Because I love you.” 

The blue streak Stiles swears then is like nothing Derek has ever heard in his life, and he dimly registers every animal in the place simultaneously going literally barking mad at the energy that courses through Stiles and rolls in waves out into the room around them and beyond. 

“Fucking fuck you,” Stiles winds down, losing some of his fight and sagging against Derek like he has been deflated. It takes nothing at all for him to lift his head from Derek’s shoulder and fit their mouths together, heavy and slow and meaningfully chaste even though it isn’t, not really. 

“I love you too,” Stiles says, and it’s the most surprising thing that Derek has ever in his life heard, the best and least seemingly possible thing that’s ever happened to him. 

Stiles barely speaks to Derek for the next two weeks, and that part makes a lot more sense in the context of Derek’s history with luck. 

 

____

 

A more immediately pressing concern, for people who aren’t Derek, might be providing an explanation of what happened that satisfies the pack and Deaton. 

“Okay,” Scott says, pacing across the floor in front of the window in Derek’s loft for the fiftieth time this afternoon. “So Stiles’ nemesis lures him to the forest and then hits him with a body bind spell that means Stiles can’t fight him off when he makes him drink the poison. That part we can totally combat in future. No one ever goes anywhere by themselves ever again.” 

Jackson snorts, but Cora interrupts what was bound to become a scathing take-down of Scott’s plan with a question. 

“But wait, back up. Deaton said very few witches are strong enough to make that binding spell work on a werewolf, and that’s why Stiles was lured into the forest alone. So how did he make you take the poison, Derek?” 

Of course it’s his own sister who turns on him with suspicious eyes. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him, because she has learned to, almost from scratch. It’s kind of the opposite, actually. She’s looking at him in a way that makes it plain she knows he’s trying to hide something, and neither the Cora Derek once knew nor the one he knows now would ever stand for that. 

Derek says nothing, and Stiles tries to rescue him, although he still won’t speak to Derek, will barely look at him since what happened. 

“He wasn’t even strong enough to make the binding spell work properly. I broke it by taking his talisman off with my magic, even under his bind. But by then it was too late, it was swallow and breathe or die of asphyxiation. Unfortunately, instinct overtook logic and I had no choice. I stripped him of his magic and he bailed, and then I called Derek and Derek came.” 

“We know all this, but how did Derek get poisoned?” Lydia asks, sweetly, because she’s always fifteen steps ahead of the rest of them at any given time and by now they know all they can do is wait for her big reveal when she deems it appropriately stunning. 

“He uh. Well see when he …” Stiles flounders, and almost everyone narrows their eyes at this, the wolves’ nostrils flaring at the brittle, metallic nervousness that pours off Stiles like gritty glitter. “When Derek found me I had stopped breathing and so he gave me mouth to mouth. Just like in that CPR course Melissa ran through with us all, remember? It was obviously the right thing to do, since it saved my life. It was only logical. Quick thinking and assertive action on Derek’s part, which is exactly what this pack needs more of.” Stiles’ delivery is mercilessly delivered; a fast, certain hammering of words packed so tightly together that he leaves no room for gaps, no space for questions. Derek is impressed. And then quickly reprimanded for his proud smile by the sharp glare Stiles sends him across the silence that has descended in the loft. 

“So then …” Isaac looks a little faint. 

“Derek wasn’t poisoned at all, he just ingested the poison that was going to kill Stiles,” Allison says, matter of fact, but looking at Erica with a look heavy on significance. 

“And that means that Derek saved Stiles by touching his mouth with his own mouth.” Derek has never seen Lydia struggle to do anything, but she’s barely holding her straight face right now. 

“Oh god,” Jackson says, and Isaac reaches across the back of the couch to grip his hand in some kind of solidarity. 

Boyd, predictably, only rolls his eyes. 

Silence reigns once more now that the reality of the situation seems to have sunk in for everyone. Isaac and Jackson still look a little green around the gills, Danny and Allison and Lydia and Cora don’t seem all that surprised at all, and Erica and Boyd just look amused. Stiles is still frowning and Scott visibly winces in his direction. 

“So how are we … all doing with that?” 

Derek needs to put a stop to this before they’re all talking about their feelings again. 

“We’re all fine with that, Scott. Stiles is alive so everything worked out, I think we can all agree on that.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles adds, back to not looking at Derek now, “It happened, we’re all okay, the end. On to the next big bad and all that, the Hale pack live to see another nightmare etc.” 

Scott doesn’t look so sure, and Derek knows the feeling, but Stiles is adamant so they all go back to their regularly scheduled lives. 

Except for how Stiles still isn’t speaking to or looking at Derek, even though he told him he loved him too. 

 

____

 

His newfound distance from Stiles is a completely different kind of failure for Derek to learn. 

His pack is still thriving, and he knows that that won’t change. It’s not just his pack anymore, and Stiles would never walk away from it. Derek knows that better than anyone, given the years he spent trying to convince Stiles to get out while he still could; while he still had a shot at a long and normal life. The wolves are here for good and they and Derek have long since made their peace with that, they thrive on it now. But Danny and Lydia and Allison are a different story, and it’s one Derek tried time and time again to re-write. 

In the end it was Scott and Jackson who made him see that it wasn’t Derek’s story to write at all. That it never was. 

“We chose this,” Stiles had told him, gently and with sorrow-heavy words, but sorry for the way he knew Derek would take it, not what he was saying. “We choose family. We choose you. Try and tell me we’d be safer with anyone else watching our backs.” 

Stiles had been 22 and Derek had already loved him for years. 

Derek had listened, at long last, and Stiles had been proud. 

Stiles is 25 now, and he has been to school and come back. 

Derek is 28, and he has found a second family, built himself another home. 

 

_____

 

 _get off my goddamn roof, i can hear your dumb as fuck boots, you’re a terrible werewolf_ the text says, and Derek doesn’t mind because he wasn’t trying to be stealthy. Stiles is back in his childhood bedroom, safely stowed away in the first room Derek ever loved him in, because his apartment in town is having new windows installed and Stiles didn’t even ask if he could stay with Derek when he always did so automatically before. It feels fitting to Derek that he can go and brood on the roof of the Sheriff’s house again, because Stiles will probably always make him feel like a headstrong, idiot kid who has no idea what he’s doing but doesn’t care if it means he can be here. 

Derek doesn’t go inside, but he listens to the sounds of Stiles getting ready for bed, and he pictures the way he looks, sleep-soft in his bed with his hair all mussed and the sheets warm and creased, his mouth open against his pillow. 

_don’t come back here tonight_ Stiles texts him early the next morning, and then _but don’t go far_ that afternoon. 

As if Derek ever would. 

As if Derek could. 

 

____

 

“You get that he’s not mad about the kissing, right? Because you’ve come a long way, baby, but Stiles will always be your blind spot.” 

Lydia is sitting on his couch with her heels up on his coffee table, eating his yogurt when Derek gets home, and the only thing surprising about this is the fact that she’s not at her office already, raising hell. It’s Monday morning. She has hearts to strike fear into. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? An empire to see to?” 

“There will be time for that later,” Lydia says with a dismissive hand wave, but Derek spots her briefcase on the floor next to her, and she’s wearing her ‘give me all your money, since you seem to have no idea what to do with it’ power suit. “You and Stiles need me more right now.” 

Derek can’t disagree with that, not really, but he’ll still try. 

“We’re fine, Lydia. He’s mad at me for saving his life for some reason, but how long can that last? He’ll get over it.” 

Lydia pats the cushion next to her, and smiles down at Derek when he lies down and puts his head in her lap. Maybe Derek is the alpha, and maybe he has shaped up to be a fucking great one, but part and parcel of that means knowing when you need help, and knowing how to be honest about that. 

Lydia pets Derek’s hair, and Derek needed this. 

“I love him, you know?” Derek says, quiet in the early morning light, and Lydia hums. 

“I know, sweetheart. He does too, if that helps. He’s having a hard time accepting what that means for you, but I think you can work it out. He loves you too.” 

Derek’s breath catches. 

“He said he did, but I don’t know. I mean … why should he? Why would he?” 

Lydia sighs, and Derek feels like it’s 2012 again and he’s disappointing everyone without even trying. 

“Because you’re smart, and you’re brave, and you’re fearlessly loyal and you love us all, you take care of us and you let us take care of you and you make sure everyone has everything they need when that’s anything you can help with. Plus it doesn’t hurt that you’re such a regulation hottie. This entire town wants to bang you like a screen door in a storm, but Stiles has had dibs since the first time he saw you shirtless, I think. There’s a affidavit to that effect around here somewhere.” 

Derek turns his face into her leg and breathes in the smell of her; the scent of home. 

“You just described Stiles, Lydia, not me. He’s all of those things. He does all of that. And he could date anyone he wanted, anyone at all. Why would he pick me? After everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve put him through -” 

“And everything you promised to stop raking yourself over coals for? Admittedly, we were all a mess to begin with. It took a lot of time to get what we have now going and running smoothly. But we all made mistakes, Derek. Being alpha doesn’t mean you get it right every time, just that you get it right when it counts. And you do. You always have.” 

“So why won’t he talk to me, then? Why isn’t he here?” 

“Because believe it or not, you get some things too right. It kills him to think that you’d die for him, Derek. It keeps him awake at night knowing that he’s a danger to you in that way.” 

“I’d still die for him even if he never speaks to me again,” Derek protests, maybe a little sulkily, because he misses Stiles. He wants him back. He wants him here to stay, even if he’s not with Derek. Here is enough. Here is more than enough. 

“Just give him some time, honey. Give him his space and then go talk to him when he lets you know he’s ready, okay? Don’t push him, and he’ll come back. I promise he will.” 

Lydia leaves for work, but she comes back for lunch, and the loft is suspiciously full for dinner that evening. Derek is nothing but grateful. 

 

____

 

And ambushed. Derek is ambushed. 

He does what Lydia had suggested and he stays away from Stiles for an entire two days, even though he really doesn’t want to. He fills his days with exercise and with the rest of the pack, with books and the boring side of pack business, with cooking and cleaning and when he’s absolutely desperate - a trip to the bank. 

It’s when he’s on his way back from there that he gets tackled into his own apartment, which is quite the contradiction in terms. 

But he is being accosted by Stiles, and so Derek is nothing but delighted to be manhandled inside; grabbed by his collar and dragged into his loft. 

“Uh. Hi?” Derek says when Stiles lets him stand upright independently, and he knows this is serious, he knows Stiles isn’t happy, but he can’t help but smile because Stiles is here and Stiles is looking at him. 

“Don’t. Do not do that with your face at me right now. I’m mad. I am so, so mad at you, do you understand that?” Stiles’ hands are still caught up in Derek’s shirt, and Derek thinks he’ll be able to feel the warm lines of his knuckles on his chest forever. 

“Yeah, I know you’re upset with me. I’m sorry that you’re upset. I’m sorry that the way I feel about you makes you angry. But I don’t know how to feel differently. I don’t know how to not love you the most, more than -” 

“More than you love yourself, Derek. That’s the fucking problem. Because I get it. I love you, remember? I love you right back, and I love _you_ the most. How would you feel if I tried to sacrifice myself for you?” 

Everything flares red, but Stiles doesn’t step back. 

“Exactly. Exactly, Derek,” he says softly, sadly, and Derek hadn’t thought about that before, he hadn’t thought to see it that way. Derek is kind of an asshole. 

“I didn’t -- I hadn’t. I don’t mean to -” 

“I know. I know that,” Stiles says, and Derek feels despair, true despair, for the first time since Stiles tried to die in his arms. 

“How do we … is there -- there’s nothing we can do, right? I’d have to -- this can’t work. We can’t love each other the way we do, living the lives we live. It won’t work. We can’t.” Derek has known disappointment, and he has known it more than well, but this is something else. The thought that he and Stiles love each other but can never be together is more than he can deal with, more than he deserves to go through. 

Stiles is silent. Accepting, Derek thinks. Stiles looks at the floor instead of into Derek’s eyes, and Derek tries to resign himself to a lifetime of this; tries desperately to burn the feeling of Stiles’ hands on him into his brain so he never has to forget that, at least. 

Stiles takes a deep breath, and then Stiles’ fingers tighten in Derek’s shirt, tighten so hard that he hears fabric tear, and Stiles isn’t looking at Derek because he’s kissing him instead. 

“The way I see it, we’ve got two choices. We’re miserable all the time because we’re not together, or we’re miserable sometimes because we’re together and we’re potentially a trainwreck in some areas. It’s up to you, but I can’t promise I’d be any good at option number one. You kind of ruined me for that when you kissed me, and now that I know you love me … you might have to forcibly remove me from your presence, Derek. Maybe even your person. Because I’ve kind of loved you forever, and I don’t know how to turn down a shot at being with you, being loved by you. If you want to try we can, but like I said, I can’t -” 

“Stiles, stop talking,” Derek says, because it’s incredibly difficult to coax Stiles’ tongue into his mouth when he’s using it to form useless, pointless words instead. 

Derek and Stiles agree that they’re going to pursue their second option, and they decide this somewhere between Derek’s living room and his bedroom, with Stiles’ hands down the back of Derek’s jeans and Derek’s thigh solid and snug between Stiles’. 

 

____

 

Except, as usual, the devil is in the details for Stiles Stilinski. The devil in this case and all others being Stiles’ absolute inability to leave anything unsaid. 

“But what are we committing to, here,” Stiles wants to know, demands to know, even when Derek has him on his back in his bed, has his shirt pushed up to his armpits and his mouth in the dip between Stiles’ pelvic bone and hip bone. “Like … are we saying we’ll try to make it work? We’ll give it a shot?” 

Derek stops what he’s doing and goes to his hands and knees above Stiles’ looks down at him lying there, staring up at Derek with eyes that are wide with nothing close to fear, his mouth flushed and his breaths coming fast and gulped. 

“What do you want, Stiles? What’s best case scenario for you?” 

Stiles shakes his head at Derek, an ‘I can’t believe you’ kind of gesture, but he doesn’t get up and leave and Derek chalks it up as a win. 

“Best case scenario is this. You and me. You letting me love you so much that you learn how to love yourself _as_ much. Us. Figuring this out together, but not looking at it as doomed from the outset. This being … for good. For forever. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old, Derek,” Stiles says so easily, so matter of factly, tilting his hips into Derek’s hold when he reaches for them, his face open and trusting and honest here with Derek. “I know we can’t know what will happen next week, let alone next year, but we’ve always been my constant, and I won’t lose that. I don’t think we should have to. I don’t want it to be about you or me, or you for me, Derek. I want this to be us. You and me.” 

And that’s the first thing that gives Derek pause, that shifts his perspective so far the entire picture changes. 

It doesn’t have to be about keeping Stiles alive, even if that means Derek isn’t. Derek doesn’t have to look at himself as being instantly dispensable in that case, because there’s something more to hope for - something better to hold out for. And that’s Stiles alive and well and right here, with Derek by his side, Derek next to him in this bed. 

They can be a them. And Derek can fight tooth and nail for that. 

“Us,” Derek breathes as he bends to press his mouth above Stiles’ bellybutton. 

“Both of us, always together,” he says with his cheekbone against Stiles’ chest, the heartbeat in it thundering in his ears. 

“Exactly,” Stiles grins, pushing his fingers into Derek’s hair and tugging until Derek is leaning up over him. “Now take your shirt off and don’t ever listen to Lydia again when she tells you to stay away from me for any amount of time. She did that to drive me fucking crazy. She did that because she is a cruel and talented woman, Derek. I missed you so much. All I could think about was kissing you, and then the thought of never kissing you again. I nearly climbed up onto my roof that night. I wanted to go up there and drag you down, drag you into my bed and never let you leave. Even when I’m mad at you I need you around, so no more disappearing, do you hear me? From now on you’re where I am, and you’re staying safe, because I need you and I won’t let you go. Not ever. Not ever, Derek.” 

And then it’s like the dam breaks for both of them, because in that Derek hears what Stiles means to say, and when Derek kisses his agreement, his commitment, into Stiles’ mouth and signs it across his thighs with the pads of his fingers, brands it on the insides of Stiles’ knees with Derek’s pushing between them, pushing them apart, Stiles feels it and Stiles believes it. 

Derek gets them both stripped in seconds, helped by Stiles using his feet to kick Derek’s jeans from around his ankles, and then they’re naked together in Derek’s bed and Derek wants time to stop, wants right now to be their forever. He pulls the covers up over them both, the combination of them and his body heat a cocoon to keep Stiles warm, and then he lies between Stiles’ legs, with his hands on Stiles’ body, and kisses him until he forgets that that was something he didn’t think he’d ever get to do. Until the way Stiles’ tongue moves against his is familiar and he almost knows when to expect the sharp, lovely bite of Stiles’ teeth, can read it in the way Stiles’ breath hitches first. Stiles hands are hot on Derek’s skin, and he touches greedily, near-desperately, like he’s learning Derek too, like he’s cataloging and filing away every detail of the first time they lie like this together. 

It isn’t frantic the way Derek used to imagine it might be. It’s not rushed, although it is desperate. Derek’s body wants Stiles’ the way Derek’s heart and mind does, the same way Derek’s wolf does, and Stiles is there every time he reaches for him, right where Derek needs him to be. 

“I could make out with you for days,” Stiles says, voicing Derek’s own thoughts, “but we need to move this along before I lose my mind,” he adds, almost sheepish, like Derek isn’t just as hard as he is, like the only thing keeping Derek in check isn’t the knowledge that Stiles isn’t going anywhere now or ever. 

So Derek is happy to grin at Stiles and drive him a little closer to madness by lifting himself up off Stiles and shrugging his shoulders, telling Stiles “I’m on board with that, it’s your show.” 

Because maybe Derek has always been a little bit slow to acknowledge the good looks that so often mean nothing but bad things for Derek, but Stiles looks at him like he knows him, like he knows every single inch of him inside and out and doesn’t just like what he sees. 

“A couple of years ago I’d probably have creamed myself just hearing you say that, but you’re in for a rude awakening if you don’t think I’m going to take complete advantage of it now,” Stiles tells him, smartly, and Derek keeps right on grinning, presses his smile to the one Stiles shows him in answer. 

They’ve waited long enough for this, and they’ve both thought about it so much that it doesn’t take more than a few minutes spent rolling around in Derek’s bed, laughing and kissing and pressing their hips together, touching and teasing, before Derek’s breath hitches in a more meaningful way and Stiles’ grin turns wicked. He shifts his hips down into Derek, letting Derek’s dick ride up between his legs, and he raises one eyebrow at Derek. 

“Oh so that’s how it is, huh? You want in?” 

Derek can’t help it, his teeth turn sharp and so do his words. 

“Right now, yeah. I want to fuck you so bad I can taste it. But later, after, I want you inside me. I want you spooned up behind me with your hands on my cock.” 

“What a coincidence,” Stiles says, reaching for his jeans and pulling lube from the pocket, “that just happens to be exactly what I want too. Already on the same page.” 

“We always were, always are,” Derek says, nosing along the dip between Stiles’ abs, greedily breathing in the way Stiles smells when he’s desperate for Derek. 

Stiles gets two fingers wet and pressed up inside himself, and when he does he pushes his head back into the pillows, bares the long line of his throat to Derek. It’s very nearly far too much, because Stiles is showing Derek everything he wants, taunting him with the knowledge that it’s about to be his, and Derek could still die for him, but he refuses to when the alternative is staying with him instead. 

“Just like this, Stiles,” Derek murmurs with his teeth still too big for his mouth, with the sharpened points of his fangs scraping gently along the tendon that stands out starkly from Stiles’ neck, rises when he writhes on his own hand for Derek. It takes more willpower than Derek thought he possessed, but he’s able to will his wolf back when it’s push a thick, blunt fingertip into Stiles alongside his own. 

“You’ll need another,” Derek tells Stiles, only practical, and Stiles groans. 

“I know,” he says, and then he has three of his own fingers inside himself, dripping and moving too fast, too desperate for Derek, “I can feel that.” He lifts his hips, dragging his cock against Derek’s and Derek has to push Stiles’ shoulders to the bed with one hand, has to take a long, hard look at the line of him sweating underneath Derek before the red bleeds out of his eyes. 

“Now. Right now. C’mon, I’m ready,” Stiles says, lifting his head to bite a kiss to the stubbled round of Derek’s jaw, “I want it,” he adds, uselessly, because the way he has taken Derek’s cock in his own hands and is rubbing the head of it up into his wet hole says that well enough. 

Derek lifts one of Stiles’ knees until he wraps his leg around Derek’s waist, and their bodies are sweat-sweet and shaking before Derek even starts to push into him, Stiles taking his cock in one slow, steady push that gets Derek all the way inside him. 

“Oh,” Stiles says, when Derek pauses, and Derek stays paused. 

“‘Oh’ like ‘oh yes’ or ‘oh ow’?” Derek has to ask, because Stiles is not a virgin, and that’s exactly how Derek likes him, but maybe it’s been a while. Derek selfishly hopes it’s been a while. 

“‘Oh’ like ‘oh fuck, I’m going to come my brains out on this cock’,” Stiles says with his eyes screwed closed and his fingernails biting into the skin of Derek’s hips, “‘Oh’ like ‘oh my fucking god yes’.” 

“I can work from there,” Derek says, his mouth gone dry at the feeling of being inside Stiles, of having Stiles legs around his waist and his hands almost begging, in a very Stiles-specific bossy sort of way, on Derek’s body. 

Derek gives Stiles slow, hard thrusts that have him tensing up every time Derek is as deep inside him as he can go, his mouth shocked open around moans that seem to catch in his throat when Derek pauses to let him feel him there. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Derek has to tell him, when Stiles opens his eyes and locks gazes with him, checking in. “I want to forget what my dick feels like when it isn’t in you.” 

Stiles laughs, and Derek gasps at the way it makes his body shake under him, around him. 

“That’s a little ambitious, maybe,” he says, and it’s true, but Derek doesn’t care that fucking Stiles makes him stupid, because he’s always been an idiot for him, “but we are definitely doing this at least twice a day every single day from now on,” he promises, and Derek gets lost in that kind of promise; that kind of timeline set out for them by Stiles. The thought of entire afternoons spent like this, or with Stiles riding him, Stiles sitting on the edge of this bed with Derek on his knees for him. 

The heat in Derek’s belly is growing tight now, twisting up inside him further and hotter with every time he works his dick into Stiles, pulling out so far that the head of his cock has to push past the tight squeeze of the rim of Stiles’ asshole into the pull of his body, the hands on Derek’s ass digging into muscle to pull him in and keep him there. 

Stiles’ dick is thick and dribbling pre-come out onto his stomach, slick little drops that Derek wants to lick away but can only thumb up and suck off his fingers instead, but Stiles’ dick jumps when he does, eager and wanting. 

“Touch me,” Stiles instructs, and Derek only pauses to hear his voice go tight, to hear him needy, the “Please, Derek,” he gets more than he’d hoped for and more than he can refuse. 

Timing the almost rough twists of his fingers with his thrusts, Derek jerks Stiles off until he’s loud for it and panting, clenching down around Derek’s cock and trembling. 

“I’m gonna,” is all he manages to say before he’s coming on his own stomach, in ropes across the back of Derek’s hand, thick and warm spurts against the thin skin of his wrist. 

And it’s the smell of him; their scents combined so well, so heady in Derek’s sheets, that makes Derek come so hard it shocks him, takes his breath with it and leaves him held upright only by the strength of Stiles’ legs around him, his hands anchored on Stiles’ waist and shaking. 

“You know I was kidding about us trying to not be together, right?” Stiles says, still trying to catch his breath, “I couldn’t live not knowing what that’s like,” he says with laughter in his voice, but only to hide something else. 

“I couldn’t live without you,” he says, with his voice stripped bare, and Derek almost sprains something getting closer to him; getting Stiles into his arms and warm all along his side. 

“You’ll never have to, if I have anything to say about it,” Derek promises, and Stiles is still trembling, but his nod is firm. 

 

____

 

“So does this mean we have to elect someone else to be the person who recklessly tries to sacrifice themselves for Stiles all the time? Because I nominate Jackson.” 

Jackson snarls, but only playfully. Mostly. 

“Nobody is sacrificing themselves for anyone else, recklessly or not” Stiles says, managing to sound stern somehow even though he’s currently sitting in Derek’s lap with Derek’s face buried in the side of his neck. 

“Yeah,” Cora adds, “Only very carefully thought out and well planned self-sacrifice from now on, and that’s a pack-wide rule.” 

“Motion carried,” Boyd concludes, and they don’t have a gavel, but his glancing at each of them in turn gets the same point across. 

Derek doesn’t look up, but he hums against Stiles’ throat in agreement, so Stiles can nod for the two of them. 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> (r.e. the major character death: there's a point at which Derek thinks Stiles has died, and the reader has reason to suspect that Derek has also, but both are very much still alive and well throughout.) 
> 
> I don't own these characters and I'm not profiting from this in any way.


End file.
